


A Day In The Life

by ghostwriter107



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-06 18:35:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1868112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwriter107/pseuds/ghostwriter107
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumpelstiltskin returns from Neverland to discover he shares Belle's heart with another.  Takes place pre-Season 3 Episode 1.  This is an AU where Pan did not return to Storybrooke with the rescuers, nor have they found Bae yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dawn's Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this story between seasons, so it is now AU. The inspiration for the story came from wondering how soldiers returning home from years of service have to acquaint themselves with loved one or children who don't remember them. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

A DAY IN THE LIFE

Chapter 1: Dawn’s Light  
Dawn rose sleepily over the tiny seaport town of Storybrooke, Maine. A gentle, lavender haze, the result of condensation from the ocean waters, rested over the waking town, extending gauzy tendrils through the streets and alley ways, over the slopes and valleys residing within the fixed boundaries of the township. The town’s inhabitants were waking to the day, and the few businesses that catered to the early risers were opening their blinds and doors, ready to greet bleary-eyed customers with food, caffeine and the daily edition of The Mirror. Seagulls and forest songbirds greeted the day with sharp caws and crisp whistles, eager to begin searching for breakfast, and the ceaseless, salty waves slapped at the docks of the Storybrooke Port. It was another typical morning. 

A few boat crews were congregating on the docks. Several fishing vessels, essential to Storybrooke’s economy, prepared their rigging and nets for the day, checked their fuel and supplies and made ready to put out to sea. The camaraderie among them was evident as they worked together, each one going over their own checklist while slugging down hot coffee and discussing the local politics. In a town held encapsulated in the thralldom of a curse, they were proud of being able to survive isolation from two realms, to provide for themselves. The local cannery provided both a livelihood and sustenance in the closed community. 

Some waved as they looked up to scrutinize the lanky old man heading determinately toward a rather sturdy, if unkempt, boat nestled among the greater vessels moored to the docks. Marco, as vigorous as any man half his age, led his energetic son across the salt-crusted peer and onto the small boat he had borrowed from his friend, Leroy. The boy, August, a compact lad of 11 years with reddish hair, had obviously been on the boat more than a few times, and he eagerly stowed a cooler filled with soda and sandwiches on the deck. Always hungry, he grabbed a sandwich from the cooler and began munching as he checked the tackle for the fishing excursion they had planned for the day. 

The rising sun reflected on the surface of the water surrounding them, causing sparks of light to dance in a blinding display. August squinted his eyes, placing his hand in front of his scrunched up face to peer out over the dancing light and sighed. How he longed to take the old boat out and sail far from the little hamlet he had grown up in. He loved being with his papa, but he was a gregarious boy by nature and dreamed of adventure. He would love to sail far away from this place, to see the world he knew only from books and television, but the barrier that had been placed over the cursed town extended over the waters for just a few miles, preventing anyone from escaping. They were all trapped here, and life had settled into a stalemate. 

Without warning, a thunderous clap sounded just a few hundred yards from the tiny boat’s position. A great whirlpool began to whip at the fog, drawing it away from the shoreline in gusts, and then sucking it into a swirling purple vortex spinning in the sparkling water to the east. The clangorous noise drowned out the sudden cries of gulls rushing away from it, and a cacophony of warning bells rang in the wind whipping around the tiny port. The men on the dock erupted into action, scrambling out of their boats, shouting and taking to the dock to watch the tempest. Just as the boy began to wonder what the phenomenon might be, an old-world wooden ship in full sail was spat out of the spinning portal and the vortex closed as suddenly as it had opened. In the wake of choppy water and clearing fog was an old pirate ship sailing straight toward the port, on its bow the name Jolly Roger proudly displayed. 

“August,” his father called. The boy, breathless and wide-eyed, kept his eyes trained on the approaching apparition as he sang out, “yes, Papa?” 

“Come, boy, out of the boat.” Marco and August quickly disembarked and joined a score of others on the dock, waiting to investigate and meet the old pirate ship that had abandoned their shores so long ago to sail to Neverland, carrying with it the Royal family to rescue the young prince, Henry. The initial shouting and confusion associated with the unexpected phenomenon had settled into a quiet and uneasy anticipation as each person on the port deck contemplated the occupants of the Jolly Roger, speculating as to who had made it back on the return trip. More than a few observers pulled out cell phones, notifying others in the waking town of the unexpected intrusion. Tension was thick among them as they watched the ship approaching, lowering its sails as it neared them and made ready to dock with the other vessels. Within minutes, the ship had pulled into a berth and two of the men on board cast ropes down to the waiting hands of some of the fishermen below. Once anchored to the moorings of the deck, a small stairway was lowered and a dark-haired man, the pirate captain known as Hook, disembarked onto the landing, followed by a tall, sandy-haired man with a small scar on his chin. 

David Nolan took in his surroundings for a moment before turning to old Marco standing on the outer edge of the gathered seamen and growing numbers of curious citizens pouring in from the small town. Looking around at the crowd, he smiled in recognition and bounded forward, greeting the old man, “Marco, it’s great to see you!”

Marco stood stock still for a moment, astounded by the appearance of the ship and his old friends. His face lighting with a smile, he stepped forward, ignoring the prince’s proffered hand and embraced him enthusiastically. “Welcome home, my prince!” 

David returned the hug, then pulled away and devoted his attention to the rest of the passengers as they disembarked from the old vessel. A boy about August’s age deftly clipped down the steps, eager to stand on solid ground once more. He was followed by a beautiful woman with short, black hair who enthusiastically greeted Marco and others in the growing crowd on onlookers. Awed, August realized she was Snow White whom his father had spoken of so often. A tall, blonde woman wearing a leather jacket and jeans followed her. Emma Swan, the curse-breaker and savior. Emma smiled at the old man, and then looked at August. Her smile dropped and her eyes narrowed as she if she tried to make sense of the alteration of facts she thought she knew. Before she had time to process anything, however, the rest of the passengers settled onto the dock, drawing tense murmurs from the people assembled on the dock. 

The Evil Queen. Rumpelstiltskin. 

The queen, Regina, was beautiful, with dark hair and porcelain skin, her mouth red and her dark eyes framed by darker lashes. Beside her stood a slight man with graying hair, clad in a dark suit and holding a fine, gold-handled cane. He stood quietly, but his eyes, void of any warmth, seemed to take inventory of the people before him, searching the crowd for some familiar face. The sorcerer was calm, still, poised like a snake ready to strike with any provocation. As he surveyed the fishermen and dockworkers, his eyes came to rest on August. He cocked his head slightly left as he tried to recollect the age and appearance of the boy the last time he had seen him. Something was amiss here. 

“RUMPELSTILTSKIN!” 

A woman’s shrill cry sounded from the back of the crowd, which began to part as she shoved her way through. Pushing past those surrounding the little party of newcomers was Belle, the town librarian. She was a petite woman with large blue eyes and chestnut curls, her beauty rivaling that of the queens standing on the docks. Breaking through the human barrier, she hesitated a moment, panting, her face flushed with excitement as she cast her azure eyes toward the most powerful sorcerer in all of the realms, the look of love and hope and want and joy etched upon her lovely features. 

“Rumpelstiltskin!” she whispered, and then ran the few steps between them, flinging herself into his arms. Dropping his cane, he pulled her fully into his embrace. She eagerly sought his mouth in greeting, her salty tears mingling with the sweetness of her breath as she kissed him. Rumpel returned her kisses enthusiastically, shuddering slightly as he accepted her greeting, acknowledging he had missed her as achingly as she had him. It felt so good to feel her in his arms at last after months of parting for the mission of his grandson’s rescue. His emotions began to overwhelm him and he needed air, pulled back from her but kept her close, his arms under her shoulders and his hands fisting in her silky, brown curls. 

“I missed you!” she breathed, her forehead resting against his jaw, his mouth. “I missed you, too!” he returned. 

Henry, standing nearby, groaned, “Ah, Grandpa, get a room!” 

The crowd began to laugh, both at the boy’s words and the sight of the Dark One embracing his love on the docks in the midst of a crowd, a public display no one ever thought to see. Henry bent down, retrieved the gold handled cane and handed it back to his grandfather. Rumpel disentangled himself from his lovely Belle, embracing her with his left hand as he took his cane in his right.

“Something’s not right here,” Emma interjected, her eyes trained on August’s features. She reached out her hand, cupping the boy’s chin as she took him in. “You were a lot younger when we left. What happened?” 

Snow and David closed in on the boy, noticing for the first time the change in his appearance. Snow turned to Marco, puzzled. “Marco, how long have we been gone?” 

The old man shrugged and looked into Snow’s expressive eyes. “Nearly four years, your Majesty.” 

The small group looked at each other in disbelief. “You’re kidding,” David said, “we’ve only been gone for a little over two months.” 

“It’s Neverland!” Hook spat, drawing their attention. “I should have figured something like this would happen. Time there is always messed up.” Amused, he shifted his eyes toward Rumpel. “Well, Crocodile, I guess you’re lucky your little Belle didn’t give up on you and find someone else to occupy her time.” 

Rumpel turned his eyes back to those of his petite love standing next to him, but she cast her own blue orbs downward, a disquieted blush coloring her features. Sensing something was wrong, he tentatively asked, “Belle?”

Pulling away from him, Belle looked up, biting her lower lip as she tended to do when anxious. Aware that so many eyes were now trained on them in this very private moment, she nervously returned, “Well, Rumpel, actually…there is someone who has been occupying my time for a long while now.” Taking his hand in hers, she tugged him toward the sleepy town a few steps, then turned and said, “Come, there’s someone I want you to meet.”


	2. Noon's Discovery

Chapter 2: Noon’s Discoveries

Belle opened the front door and led Rumpelstiltskin from the sunny porch into the cool entryway of his quiet, salmon colored house. She had taken his free hand in her own, her azure orbs gazing shyly into his deep brown eyes. She was nervous, almost shy as she pulled him along into the living area. Granny Lucas was there, sitting in an old rocking chair, her back to them, rocking and speaking softly. A young child was in her arms, a halo of dark curls flowing over the crook of the old woman’s elbow. She was reading a story to the child, rocking gently, soothingly, trying to coax the little one to sleep. 

His cane tapped softly on the wood floor as he and Belle entered the room and Granny stopped mid-sentence, then turned her head toward them. Belle squeezed his hand before releasing it. She smiled and greeted the old woman. “Hi, Granny,” She gestured toward Rumpel, “We’ve had a little excitement down at the docks.” 

“I see,” Granny responded. “Well, then, I guess story time is over.” 

Belle crossed the short distance, knelt and reached her arms out to the child lying across Granny’s lap. “Hello, sweetheart!” The child gave out a delightful squeal and bounded out of the old woman’s lap and into Belle’s arms. A girl: the child was a girl of about three years, wearing a blue sundress with a yellow sunflower appliquéd on it and no shoes. Belle caught her up and clasped her to her with a smile. She stood up, the little one’s arms around her neck, snuggled in for a hug, and turned to the man. Her next words were a bit breathless, “Rumpel, this is your daughter, Aaralyn.” 

His chin quivered as he took in the sight of his love with the babe in her arms. “My daughter?” he whispered. He paused for a moment as he greedily took in the child’s features. Bae had taken after Milah in his looks, so much so that many speculated that Rumpel had not, in fact, actually fathered him. But this little one favored him greatly. The shape of her brow and her eyes were Belle’s, though their color was brown like his own. She had his nose and chin and, like him, she was slight and angular. Chocolate brown curls framed her pale face, and a small smattering of light freckles accented the bridge of her nose and cheeks. Her expressive eyes stared back, sizing him up curiously and cautiously. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and in that moment, he fell irretrievably in love.

“My daughter?” he asked again, his voice strained from emotion.

Belle smiled and nodded at him. She came forward the few steps between them and stood, swaying slightly, comforting the reluctant child during the awkward moment. “Sweetheart, this is your Papa.” 

The introduction struck a vibrant chord in his chest and Rumpel smiled tenuously, started to reach for her with his free hand. The child pulled back into her mother’s embrace, wary of the man she had never actually seen before, but whose existence her mother spoke of daily. Her eyes and the set of her jaw revealed the inner workings of her mind as she processed this new information and he drew back, unwilling to frighten or force his presence on her. He was a stranger to her; even so, he felt the rejection grip his heart. 

Keeping his place, he grinned disarmingly at her. “Aaralyn,” he said, breathing her name like a prayer. Names had power, he well knew. This new name was emblazoned on his heart just as surely as his own name was etched on his dagger, and from this moment, this tiny girl-child with the soulful brown eyes and the somber expression owned him, his soul, his heart, his life. 

Respecting her reluctance, he reached for Belle instead, embracing her and drawing her in for a chaste kiss on her trembling lips. She had been silent, letting her two loves take each other in, knowing this first awkward meeting was a momentous occasion. She smiled warmly at her lover, glad for his return, glad for the happiness she saw reflected in his warm eyes. She reached out to him, her hand cupping his cheek and pulled him in for a deeper kiss. 

From her proximity in her mother’s arms, Aaralyn watched this interaction. She had seen this man’s face in pictures that Mama kept by her bedside and on the wall in her own bedroom. Every day she saw the dark eyes staring out from the framed photos as she played, eyes that were soft and warm as they peered out, unseeing, into her own. She had said goodnight to that face every night for as long as she could remember, had memorized the features and had grown to love the image. She had pursed her childish lips and kissed the cold glass covering the image, had said “goodnight” and had listened to Mama’s prayers for his safe return. But the pictures had been still and silent, had had no arms to reach for or hands to hold, to touch. This stranger’s face was familiar, but the animation of him was foreign and a bit frightening. And now, he was touching Mama, speaking with that soft voice she had never heard before. He was kissing her, and was so very, very close. And Mama liked the touch, liked him. 

Mama curled into the man for a hug, resting her head on his shoulder, and the man, Papa, rested his cheek on her forehead, closing his eyes, savoring the close contact. Now Aaralyn was close enough to look at his face, see the fine lines around his closed eyes and smiling mouth. She could smell him, a slightly spicy smell like Mr. Archie wore, and the smell of the salty air and a smell of, well, him. She could feel the warmth of his nearness, the heat of his body in the dark jacket, could feel his soft hair as it brushed against her arm. It was strange to see him animated, not flat like on the photos, to hear him breath and speak and see his familiar brown eyes looking back at her. He and Mama parted, stood a bit apart and smiled at one another, hopeful and happy. 

Shyly, the child reached her hand out and touched Rumpel’s cheek, drawing his attention back to her. He swallowed, his breath catching for a moment as he felt her small fingers explore his face. He could see her puzzling, could trace her expression as she worked out her feelings at meeting the man who had sired and then left her; had now returned to claim a place in her home and in her mother’s heart; to claim a place in her heart and to take her into his. He wanted so badly to kiss those little fingers, to count them and her toes as one does a newborn, but he stood still, let her explore his countenance at her leisure. Aaralyn pondered the living, breathing face she was so familiar with and decided that she liked it. She felt the rightness of his presence in this small circle that was Aaralyn and Mama and, now, Papa. Without preamble, she leaned toward him, pursed her childish lips and kissed him sweetly on his warm mouth. Keeping her lovely brown eyes fixed on his, she leaned back into Mama’s arms and said resolutely, “Goodnight, Papa!”


	3. Evening's Declarations

Chapter 3: Evening’s Declarations

Being on the outskirts of town meant being virtually free of the intrusive noises associated with the local villagers, and the garden behind the house offered the trio a quiet retreat. He had never tended this garden aside from some puttering here and there during the time of the curse. After the savior had arrived and he had wakened from his cursed oblivion he had been too busy setting the wheels of his schemes into motion to care for the meandering collections of bushes and blooms along the brick pathway and had not ventured to spend time here. 

Belle led him into the garden behind the house in the early afternoon, just after Aaralyn had wakened up from her nap. Sleep had facilitated the return of her shyness after her initial greeting to her father, and the child clung to Belle as they entered the sanctuary behind his Victorian manor. Belle told him she had moved into his house after he had left on his mission, first because she missed him and was loath to be completely away from him; and later, when she had discovered her condition, to preserve the connection between him and their child. During the ensuing years, she had cared for the garden, turning it’s rich soil into a cacophony of flora and fauna, among them spice scented carnations, lavender orchids, pink, red and white tulips, marigolds and mums in reds, golds and oranges, fresh-faced daffodils, a rainbow array of tall snapdragons, several varieties of lilies, blue asters, great coral peonies, and, her favorite, roses of every hue. A few flowering pears and crepe myrtles kept vigil over the garden, drawing the eye up and away from the carpet of blossoms and patterns of leaves. Lining the fences were pine scented junipers, holly bushes and vibrant pink and blue morning glories. Ferns and Swedish Ivy were tucked into a few pots so that they were surrounded by a rich living tapestry of texture and color. 

Rumpelstiltskin ever viewed himself the outsider and instinctively felt as if he were some apparition trespassing in this enchanted place that seemed so perfect a setting for the two nymphs leading him into their private sanctuary. Belle was at home among the fragrance of flowers and the colors of life. She looked back at him with those intuitive eyes and knew that he was shy, regretful, out of place in the garden she had made her own, hers and Aaralyn’s. She wanted him to feel at ease in this little place, to make a new connection with her and with their child. Reaching out to pluck one pink carnation from a nearby bed, she laughed and tickled Aaralyn’s nose with it’s soft petals, drawing a childish giggle from her. “We planted this, didn’t we, pretty girl?” She asked the delicate creature cradled in her arms. “Can you tell Papa what color this is?” 

“Pink!” Aaralyn exclaimed, pulling the bloom into her own hand so she could touch its velvet softness. 

“That’s right! You’re so smart!” her mother lavishly praised her. Plucking up a lazy daffodil to add to the blossom already in her hand, she asked, “and what color is this one?”

Aaralyn smiled, her eyes twinkling, “that’s a lellow daffydil!” 

“Indeed it is!” Belle smiled into Rumpel’s eyes, drawing him into their game. Following her lead, he plucked up a crimsoned tea rose from the bush beside him, careful to grab just the bud and not pull away any thorns with it. Presenting it to the little one in his love’s arms, he asked quietly, “And what’s this one, dearie?”

Large, brown eyes glanced shyly at him, and hesitating only a moment, she reached out her tiny hand and said, “silly, that’s a wed, wed wose!” 

Her parents laughed and Aaralyn decided that she liked the double attention. Forgetting her earlier hesitation, the toddler clamored to be let down on the garden path. She ran to fetch her little spade and rake from a plastic bin along the cedar fence, racing back to share her treasures with her captive audience. Kneeling beside her on the knee of his good leg, Rumpel absorbed her excited instructions on scratching the black soil under the leaves of the delicate blossoms she adored, enjoying the long forgotten experience of childish chatter as she shared her infantile knowledge of husbandry with him. It was evident that she had learned the fundamentals of gardening, even if she didn’t fully understand her own lecture. The father was impressed that she knew the names of the myriad plants around her, that she knew which attracted butterflies and which birds preferred. He was filled with a sense of paternal pride as she shared this cache of knowledge in her sweet lisp, and he praised her lavishly and asked her questions until not a bit of shyness remained between them. He found himself wishing he had spent more time in the little garden and less manipulating events just so he might impart some small new fact to his little darling, but decided he didn’t mind a bit that this little snippet knew so much more about the subject than did he. 

“She’s marvelous, Belle!” he proudly directed at the smiling mother. “She’s so smart!” 

Belle tucked her chin and lowered her eyes as she was want to do when she received a compliment. Giving him a sideways glance and breaking into a brilliant smile, she countered, “well, she has marvelous genes!” He laughed at that, pleased that Aaralyn was such a beautiful and intelligent child, both characteristics he immediately credited to Belle. 

Never one to just allow the joy of a moment to be it’s own reward, he felt a sharp pain in the vicinity of his heart that he had missed so much of his daughter’s life. He took a seat on a small concrete bench in the center of the garden, watching mother and daughter gather a few blooms to be arranged for the dining table and nursed the new regret he’d discovered. He had not purposely abandoned his love and his daughter, had not known of Belle’s pregnancy when he left. Even if he had, he knew he still would have chosen to go to Neverland to rescue his grandson, convincing himself that he had done so only to honor Bae. He hadn’t considered that time in that strange realm would flow so slowly in comparison to this world without magic, would never have anticipated missing more than a few weeks if he had known of her condition. 

He watched his lovely family from the cold bench contemplating the ease with which these female creatures so easily accepted the old monster in their midst. As a man, in the beginning of his life, he had been an outcast, having no friends to speak of, a pathetic, crippled spinner of no consequence. His marriage had been arranged, and indeed, his wife had found little she liked in him. The only love he experience then had been poured out on his beautiful boy, his Bae. He hadn’t meant to spoil that relationship, but in the end, he had destroyed it dismally. By then, he was a monster, but he thought the monster superior to the man he had been. He had lived for three hundred years with only his obsession to recover Bae to sustain him. He had manipulated monarchs, peasants and magicians, killed, devastated and twisted lives, reshaped the fabric of the future and ripped apart realms to meet his goal, all of it void of hope and love, all of it selfish and cruel. And then came Belle: beautiful, stubborn, resolute and fierce. She loved the spinner beneath the powerful sorcerer, and she feared the sorcerer not a whit. 

He watched her with the child she had given him and knew that her spirit beat in the little breast on the path beside her, and he knew that he was unworthy of both. He saw the mother in the curious expression in the child’s brown eyes, in the wrinkling of the brow as it absorbed information, in the ready smile and almost immediate acceptance of her Papa. He didn’t expect to see any part of himself in the small being whose existence he hadn’t known of until that morning, and it both pained and pleased him to think she had nothing of him. It was in the moment that this regret was birthed that Aaralyn chose to look up at him, and he saw want in her eyes. He recognized that particular emotion, and wondered that he, selfish creature that he was, was able to see it in the tiny child. She was so much like Belle that it almost escaped him that a flicker of self-doubt could even exist in her; that he shared a kinship with her spirit that only he could fill. Her velvety eyes gazed into his shyly, expectantly. 

He had spent the last few hours letting Aaralyn take the lead in their relationship so as not to frighten her, to let her approach him at her own pace. Now, he saw in her the need for him to make the first move, to draw her in. Using his cane to support his bad leg, he pulled himself up from the bench, careful not to break eye contact. Steadily, he made his way to the lovely yellow roses where his two hearts knelt. Belle was sharing with Aaralyn that she should always wear gloves when cutting the rose away from the bush to avoid the thorns, but the child’s steady gaze was on the man limping toward her. Upon reaching them, Rumpel knelt down beside them and laid his cane on the ground. Brown eyes met brown and he smiled down at her, a smile from the core of his now warm heart. 

Opening his arms to her, he said, “Come here, baby. Come to Papa.” 

Aaralyn jumped up into his embrace, encircling her arms around his neck and drawing her body up into his chest. Silent tears welled up from his eyes, flowed down his cheeks unheeded to the silky strands of her dark hair as he clasped her to his heart. Emotions raw, he gently rocked the child, giving her back every day, every hug, every kiss he had missed in her short life. After a few moments, he pulled back slightly, gazed at her sweet face, now smiling. “I love you so much, my precious child!”

Belle watched the exchange, smiling through tears of her own. Rumpel directed his attention to her, held out his hand and drew her into the embrace. 

‘So much love for an old monster!’ Rumpel mused inwardly. ‘I’ve much to live up to now.’


	4. Night's Reflections

Chapter 4: Night’s Reflections

The blue skies of the day had given way to twilight some two hours past, and had now faded into a black velvet sky with constellations of diamond starlight and no moon. No clouds marred the skyline of the tall forest pines, which created the backdrop beyond the old Victorian manor, nestled against the woods at the edge of town. Crickets, invisible in the folds of darkness, maintained a steady strum of muted music, keeping the night from being too still, and a few early lightening bugs scattered glittering flashes of light within the thick darkness. A slight chill had descended, settling on the still face of the salmon Victorian manor until all was cocooned in serenity. 

Rumpelstiltskin curiously roamed the little nursery situated on the second floor adjacent to the Master suit. Looking around, he noted the care and love that had gone into the décor, intended to inspire the occupant’s play and creativity. The upper portion of the wall had been painted in translucent pastel stripes of cream and pink, the west wall displaying several white-framed prints of porcelain dolls taking tea. The lower wall, painted a soft, pale green, was separated from the upper wall by a white chair rail, under which ran a two-inch stripe of cork. Pinned liberally to the cork stripe, Aaralyn’s hand-drawn pictures were proudly displayed. On the opposite wall was a white daybed tucked up with a pink comforter and covered with a plethora of stuffed toys and decorative pillows. Centered on the wall above the bed were two photographs in frames. One was a close-up of Belle, her eyes tired and elated, holding a bald, red-faced newborn Aaralyn wrapped in a pink blanket. The other photo was a head-shot of himself, his eyes warm and his impish smile reflecting his love for the photographer. Flanking the bed on opposite sides were a matching set of oak book cases, upon which were scattered dolls, toys and books, all haphazardly piled into the lower shelves as if the owner of the room moved too quickly between activities to keep any real sense of order. Occupying a corner was a small table and chairs arranged for tea, and a large, nine-drawer French provincial dresser with a mirror occupied the short wall between the entry and closet doors. 

Rumpelstiltskin reached through gauzy curtains and closed the window against the cooler night air invading the cozy room. Earlier, he had spent the better part of half an hour with the tiny artist as she pointed to the rather precarious figures scribbled on white paper and claimed they were “horsies, pwincesses, dwagons, twees and Mama and me.” He chuckled at the memory of the serious tone she had used to retell him the stories she had illustrated and he thought each drawing as charming as any priceless rendering from a master painter. This artistic session had ended with Aaralyn retrieving her paper and crayons and rendering a new drawing of “Mama and Papa and me” picking flowers in the garden. He had never thought much of his own features, but he thought her impression of his “gi-normous head” with long brown hair, his purple, out of proportion suit and colossal cane quite handsome, especially in a garden with giant pink blooms and sandwiched between a crayon Belle and Aaralyn of the same size. She had gifted him with the picture, and it was now folded in his breast pocket next to his heart, the very place a dragon hoards his most precious treasure. 

Belle was down the hall bathing their daughter. He listened to the sounds of playful chatter and splashing water, enchanted by the sweetness of the mundane moment. He remembered bathing Bae in a leaky, wooden washtub in their hut when he was a small lad. He had always marveled that the water that had been crystal clear when the boy entered but looked worse than a mud puddle when he exited. He had teased and laughed with his young son, the combination of water and small toys rendering it a confined playground that sparked the only imagination afforded to the poor, and signaled the end of the day’s toil. He sighed. He missed his son, had missed really connecting with him when he had had the chance. He had discovered on his mission to Neverland that Bae was now in their old realm, looking for a portal to reconnect their worlds once again. Of course, as soon as the sun rose in the morning, Rumpel would begin to devote his energies to finding that portal, securing a way for all of them to go home to the world they belonged to, but this last moment of the day he intended to devote to the little stranger who had wiggled into his astonishingly vulnerable heart since the dawn of morning. The rest of the night he would give to his beautiful Belle to reconnect, to navigate his way into the world she had created in his long, unintended absence. 

Aaralyn burst through the bedroom door clad in a purple nightgown liberally dusted with cartoon kittens, her little feet ensconced in fuzzy pink slippers. She clamored up to him, her arms raised, and he scooped her up in his own arms, wondering at how easily she had accepted him, hungry for the childish affection she was gifting him with. He buried his face in her dampened curls, breathed in deeply the fragrance of strawberry shampoo, lavender baby powder and minty toothpaste, evidence of her completed toilet. Reluctantly, he carried her to the bed that looked too big for her small frame and scooped back the comforter, scattering pillows and plush toys across its surface. He placed her on the bed near the fluffy pillow at the head and pinched off her little slippers, carelessly casting them onto the floor. He sat on the bed nearer the foot, and Aaralyn, giggling, began arranging her toys around her, showing him how “everyone sleeps” through the night. Selecting a shabby cloth doll with a faded blue gingham dress and tattered brown yarn hair she settled in next to the pillow. 

“This is Emily. She’s my bestest baby.” Kissing the doll, she then pushed it up to her father’s face, expectantly waiting for him to give the doll a kiss, too. Smiling, he obliged her and kissed Emily’s worn and smiling face, and then returned the doll to the small girl. She clutched the doll-baby to her bosom while Rumpel tucked the covers around her as she settled in. 

Belle entered the room and immediately began picking up the errant toys scattered around the floor. “Good heavens, Aaralyn, it looks like a tornado pealed through here!” she tittered good-naturedly. “Papa’s going to think you a very untidy little miss!” Rumpel winked at Aaralyn when Belle stooped to pick up the haphazard slippers, setting them neatly side by side just under the bed. 

He tickled the little sprites’ nose. “Well, she gets that untidiness from me!” he offered. 

Recognizing the truth for what it was, Belle placed a handful of plastic toys onto a nearby shelf and smirked, “she gets a lot of things from you!”

His interest piqued, he turned toward her. “What things?” 

Belle selected a thick book from the shelf and settled in at the head of the bed. Aaralyn scooted up, half reclining into her mother’s lap, her face expectant as she sleepily directed her interest to the familiar story book in Mama’s hand. Belle placed a brief kiss on top of the silky head and looked at Rumpel. He sat across from her, a bit tense and shy as he waited for her answer. She knew that he rarely saw anything worthwhile in himself, had expressed to her over and over his flaws and shortcomings in the short time they had been together before leaving on his quest. That she could love him at all he attributed to a miracle of some altruistic flaw in her own character. Smiling, she took his hand into her own small hand and squeezed it reassuringly. 

“Oh, Rumpel, she’s smart and inquisitive! And she always has to have something proved to her. She just won’t accept anything without a proper explanation.” She loved the way he was looking at her now, holding his breath; waiting for all of the answers she could give him. “She gets caught up in her play, or in her art or a story and it totally absorbs her attention. She keeps at it until it becomes an extension of her. She could learn something new every day, and never be satisfied until she masters it.” He stared at her, his expression perplexed. He hadn’t known she thought this of him or had viewed anything in his nature in a positive way.

Shaking her head, she withdrew her hand and used it to push a stray strand behind Aaralyn’s ear, the child silently taking in this discourse. Returning her attention back to the father, Belle continued. “She’s shy, too. She doesn’t give her friendship easily, but once she has, she’s loyal. It’s quite a surprise that she’s taken to you so quickly! She must feel a connection to you.” 

Rumpel felt as if his chest had seized up. Belle’s affirmation of his kinship to this little angel, not just his biological contribution to her existence, but her affirmation that here was a kindred spirit, elated him. “I feel a connection to her too, Belle. I didn’t even know she existed until this morning, but now…I don’t know how I couldn’t have known it.” 

Aaralyn, sensing that her parents were pleased with her, but not quite understanding why this was, felt shy under their scrutiny and sought to bring them out of their reverie. “Story!” she demanded. Belle smiled and pulled her closer, then opened the book of fairy tales to a place marked by a long blue ribbon. The illustration on the page, rendered in rich tones of water colors, depicted a castle war room with a table strewn with maps, a few colorful tapestries decorating the wall and an ornate chair, evidently reserved for the king. However, on this chair sat a malicious imp, his skin a burnished gold, and wearing burgundy leather pants and vest. At his side stood the ermined king, with various nights and nobles attending him. Opposite of the imp, resolute and curious, stood a beautiful princess with creamy skin and chestnut locks pulled away from her bare shoulders, her figure clad in a gleaming gown of gold. Belle raised her azure eyes to his, and without looking at the words scripted on the page began, “Once upon a time, true love was born in the most unlikely of places to the most unlikely of couples in the most unlikely of circumstances.”


	5. Midnight's Affirmations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that this was written before Season 3 began, so in my AU, Bae is still in the Enchanted Forrest, and Pan was just another foe left behind (and not dealt with in this story). I hope you enjoy the chapter.

Chapter 5: Midnight’s Affirmations

Rumpel stood inside his bedroom. Alone. 

He felt as though a lifetime had passed in the span of a few hours since docking the Jolly Roger at Storybrooke port this morning. He had undergone a transformation while in Neverland. He had left Storybrooke broken, believing he would never return to his beloved Belle. The ambiguous prophesy of the seer had led him to believe he would die because of Henry, but that had been a sacrifice he had been willing to make when he thought Bae dead and his legacy gone forever. The willingness to sacrifice himself had been against his normal selfish sense of self-preservation. That alone had been enough to be his undoing. Rescuing his grandson had removed his fear of dying – of becoming dust – of trusting that all things rightly end, even the life of the Dark One. He had learned that family is worth dying for, that these bonds were his greatest strength and that it brought love and acceptance in its wake. He now understood that he was connected to others, eve if he wasn’t good at it. It was a lesson he hadn’t wanted, but it was well learned and he was better for it. 

Discovering that Bae lived still, albeit in their old realm, had renewed a spirit of hope within him. He had spent centuries forcing fate to give him a second chance with his son and he had blown it. It had never occurred to him that he would be offered a third chance with no manipulations on his part. 

He had come home expecting he would renew his fledging relationship with his true love, had thought the scant time parted from each other would yield easily to renewal. That hope had sustained him on his journey home had made him confident when Belle had greeted him so sweetly on the docks that morning. The discovery that he’d been away much longer than he had realized had shocked him; discovering that he was a father again had nearly crippled him with fear. 

For him, a mere two months had passed, barely enough time for Belle to miss him, really; a decent amount of time to conduct business or take a vacation; time to complete a rescue operation in another realm. To discover that four years had passed for Belle had been a shock. He had missed so much! Storybrooke had developed new politics, a new economy. Businesses had changed, some closed, and some newly opened. Some of the residents had returned to the occupations they’d had in their old world, while others clung to new, democratic ways and a faction of the inhabitants wanted to stay in this world. Children were, at last, growing up and moving into adulthood. Some of the older people, freed from the timelessness of the curse, had died and were buried in this world’s soil. Babies had been born. 

Aaralyn had been born. 

Belle had changed. Locked away for the entirety of the curse, she had been awkward and unsure when she’d first rejoined their society. Some of the technologies of this world had been beyond her scope, although she had adapted quickly enough. Even though she had been fiercely independent, Rumpel knew that he could count on her inexperience in this new realm to force her to lean on him for some things, a necessity he enjoyed because it kept her near him, kept her coming back to their relationship, made him somewhat indispensable to her. Now, she was a leader in the community, someone that others came to for assistance, and she managed to be an able administrator without the intimidation he was fond of utilizing with his own clients. She had learned to manage his holdings quite nicely, supporting herself and their daughter with her earnings. If she chose to leave him, he’d gift her with everything she’d garnered and more. He’d give her the house, his properties; he’s spin her enough gold to fill vaults and he’d watch over her forever. 

He was afraid she had outgrown him. He knew that she loved him, considered him family for Aaralyn’s sake. She was too kind hearted to turn him out of her life altogether, but he wasn’t sure she would stay now that she didn’t really need him any more, and why would she stay if she didn’t need him, could manage on her own? What did he truly have to offer anyway? 

After they had closed the nursery door, they had gone downstairs and talked about their time spent apart: the venture in Neverland, the changes in town. He spoke of his new-found commitment to his grandson and plans to find a portal to Bae. She explained to him the new politics of Storybrooke and how they had dealt with an economy closed off from the rest of the world. They spoke of Aaralyn and how she had filled Belle’s life in his absence and how stunned he was by her existence. They shared the events of their lives over tea and spoke of anything and everything except what he feared most: whether she still wanted him after so many years of independence.

It was late when Belle pulled out several photo albums. The first was yellow, covered in pastel baby rattles with the words “Our First Baby” embossed on the front. Inside were photos of a baby shower Ruby had thrown for her. There were shots of Belle sitting on the sofa at Granny’s Bed and Breakfast, her stomach swollen with his child, her face alight with happiness. In some she laughed with her friends and opened gifts, in others she lay tiny outfits across the expanse of her tummy, “trying on” the babyish frocks. These photos were followed by shots of Belle in labor, and then the first photo of his daughter, naked and red, lying atop her mother’s stomach in the delivery room, the tale-tell cord of birth still intact. There was one photo, taken by a nurse perhaps, of Belle and Ruby, both looking beautiful in scrubs, holding tiny Aaralyn bundled up in a soft, pink blanket. She explained that the wolfgirl had been her “coach” during the birth, taking his place in his absence. 

Subsequent albums chronicled Belle’s and Aaralyn’s life without him. There were photos of his little girl: her first days home after the delivery; sleeping innocently in her crib; bathing in a little pink, plastic tub; snuggled against Belle as her mother read to her; crawling toward the camera all chubby and bright eyed; her first tooth; first steps; hair bands displayed like tiaras, her floofy hair at various lengths. She had progressed from infant to toddler to little girl in the span of a few volumes of photos. Her mother had not been idle during his absence, as picture after picture chronicled Belle’s activities. There was one of Belle making a speech on the town square; naps on blankets with the baby tucked up next to her; one of the two of them playing in snow; Belle at campaign headquarters at Moe French’s mayoral run; planting flowers. Among the collection was the evidence of their expanded lives and connection to the community. There were countless photos of Aaralyn being held by “Aunt” Ruby, by Granny, by dwarves and a diminutive giant, by Grandpa Moe, by “Uncle” Archie and “Uncle” Victor! He smiled hollowly, pointed and asked questions, all the while feeling bitter jealousy that a whole town had shared the defining moments of his lover’s and daughter’s lives while he had been deprived of the experiences! 

He had smiled and complimented her on her accomplishments, had asked a thousand questions about their daughter. Then, they had gone upstairs together and looked in on their sleeping child, each one stealing a gentle kiss on her little brow. They had stood awkwardly outside of her door, saying goodnight, each giving and receiving a chaste kiss. Then, he watched as she went to her own room opposite the hall from Aaralyn’s door while he took to the master suit. 

And now, Rumpel stood inside of his bedroom. Alone. 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

For centuries the Dark One had lived in his isolated citadel in the Northern Mountains of their realms, little affected by the changes of the mere mortals outside of his gray walls. During that time, he had loved no one, had no occasion to cherish isolated moments. Even when he had acquired Belle as his caretaker, and then driven her from his presence, he had not pondered what it meant to lose her. That had come with the queen’s lie, that Belle was dead, lost forever. Only then did he remember every sweet moment, every touch, ever glance – a single kiss. It was then that he had felt for the first time since he had forsaken his son the emptiness of lost opportunity, the anguish of lost love. Even learning in the final moments of the curse that Belle lived, it hadn’t occurred to him that he would suffer that kind of loss again. 

And now, he had cast aside the safety of isolation and had done his duty to his family, only to return and find that she hadn’t needed him while he was gone. She had found a vocation, became a leader in the community, and raised an infant, all without him. He had returned to a child - his child- who had never needed him, had become what she was with the help of a community of people who owed him nothing. Not since the day he had refused to fight the pirate, Hook, for his worthless wife’s honor had he felt so useless. And now, alone in his beautiful bedroom, surrounded by expensive, meaningless furnishings, he sought rest in a cold, friendless bed.

A few minutes after he had turned off his lamp, he heard a light tapping on his door. Rising up on his elbows, he turned his attention toward the door as it opened from the other side. There was no moon to light the somber room, but he heard Belle’s light footfall cross the wood floor toward the bed he occupied. He felt the cover lift and the bed dip as she added her slight weight to the mattress and pull the covers over her own body. Lying parallel to him and cupping his cheek with her small, warm fingers, she whispered, “hey.” 

Smiling, he whispered back, “hey.” He took her little hand in his and brushed a light kiss on her unseen knuckles. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Belle answered by snuggling in a little closer, entwining her legs with his. “I thought I’d like to stay here tonight; if that’s alright with you?”

His heart quickened at her request. “Of course.” He responded. He lay back on his pillow and sighed as he felt her cuddle up close to him, tuck her head up under his chin and wrap her arm around his chest. For several minutes, neither moved nor spoke, each acclimating to the other’s presence and wondering what the other was thinking, feeling. 

Belle, who had taken the lead throughout the long, trying day, spoke first, “are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he answered, not really knowing if he was. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” She wrapped her arm around him a little tighter, her breath hitching as tears threatened to spill over. “I’ve missed you, Rumpel. I was scared you’d never come home.” 

He was heartened a little by her confession, wanting to believe she truly had missed him, but afraid she was just being nice. “You, scared? You’re the bravest person I know. You’ve done so well here…without me.” 

Belle heard the caution in his words, his doubt. “I only did what needed to be done.” Her teeth tugged on her lower lip as she thought of how to proceed. She raised herself up, leaning up on his chest, her lips now close to his as she tried vainly to see his eyes in the dark. “I was waiting for you to come back to me.”

He could feel her sweet breath on his face. He reached out toward her, unable to see her in the darkness. He found her soft hair with his hand and ran his finger through it, reassuring himself that she was really there and not some apparition he had conjured to say the words he longed to hear. “I didn’t think I would make it back for a while there,” he confessed. “But…I knew I wanted to come back.” He traced the outline of her arm idly with his hand. “You were here. I wanted to come back to you.” 

Smiling through tears, Belled pressed her soft, moist lips to his tight, dry ones. His hands still in her hair, he gently held her there, wanting with all of his being for this moment to never end; hoping that she wasn’t merely wishing him well, preparing to say goodbye. Too soon, she pushed against his chest with her small hands, disengaging from the kiss. Sighing, she whispered next to his lips, her breath tingling against his skin, “I love you, Rumpelstiltskin.” 

Emotions roiled in his helpless heart, and he convulsively choked back a sob. After a moment he answered in a ragged voice, “Oh, Belle. You don’t need me any more! How can you say that you love me?”

The silence that followed this confession seemed to last an eternity as he felt Belle stiffen in reply to his words. In the darkness he felt her pull away from him and the emptiness left in the wake of her leaving him was a weight of incalculable pain. He heard a loud click at the same time a blinding light seared his eyes. Instinctively, he covered his face with his forearm, confused for only a second before he realized she had turned on the small bedside lamp. Sitting up, he lowered his arm as his eyes adjusted to the sudden illumination, seeing her for the first time since she had joined him in his lonely reverie. Oh, but she was so beautiful: her just washed face a little flushed, her thick, chestnut curls cascading over her shoulders, her blue eyes dark and teary as she gazed into his own brown eyes. She was wearing the silky, silver nightgown that he had bought her when she had first moved in with him those many months – no, years – ago. Sitting back on her heels, her tone incredulous, she asked, “What are you saying?” 

More than a little embarrassed at his outburst, he ran his hand over his eyes. There was no one else he’d ever bare his soul to but her, not even Bae. His face etched in torture at the thought of losing her now, he raised his eyes to hers. “You’ve accomplished so much here without me. You’ve raised our daughter, supported yourself. You’re loved and accepted here. I’m afraid…you don’t need me any more.” 

Belle’s heart soared at his words. Before her was the man she always knew lived inside of the monster he showed the rest of the world. He had never been as vulnerable he was in this moment. “Rumpel,” she whispered. Stretching out and placing her arms around his neck, she gently pulled him into her embrace, felt his arms slip tentatively around her slight shoulders. “I don’t love you because I need you. I need you because I love you. Aaralyn and I need you because we love you. When you were gone, a piece of me was missing, and it’s a piece I never want to be without again. You belong to me, Rumpelstiltskin, and don’t you ever think otherwise!”

He released a breathy sigh and tightened his arms around her, rocked her gently amidst the haphazard bedding. For the first time in his life, Rumpelstiltskin felt complete and…happy. He felt happy! “I love you, Bell-of-mine!” 

They pulled back from one another, smiling into each other’s eyes. Belle giggled softly, “Well, now that that’s settled, we’d better get some sleep. Our daughter wakes up early and I’d say it’s your turn to get her breakfast!” 

“Sounds fair,” he agreed with a laugh. 

Belle turned and reached for the lamp, clicking it off. They settled in under the covers, wrapped in each other’s arms, complete for the first time in their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank all of you who read this story, those who left comments and kudos.


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